The Butcher of Avignon (Hildegard of Meaux medieval crime series Book 6)

by Cassandra Clark

  ‘I knew it was a fleeting grace, that soon my voice would be lost forever.’ He sighed deeply.

  ‘Despite the glory that was promised and would have reflected onto my fellows, I drew nothing but jeers of jealousy from the other choral scholars, the nature of which you can imagine from rough peasant boys as many of them were. I was a young lad of some spirit and soon lost patience.’ He chuckled. ‘What happened was frightening at the time but the years heal all memories, do they not?’

  ‘I’m still pondering the truth of that,’ she replied, thinking of Rivera whose memory was a source of continual grief.

  ‘I said to my tormentors, “If that’s what you think of my masculinity, bring me your sisters if you dare, then discover whether I’m a eunuch or not!” This defiance didn’t go down well. One night three bully boys cornered me and you may guess what outrage they forced on me. I was then, as now, passionate about the rule of law and felt no compunction in going to the head and demanding justice. The result was the three were punished and thrown out of the song school. For many years I had no idea what had happened to them. Meanwhile, my career, starting with promise, exceeded my wildest desires. I became chief soloist in the papal choir. I was feted far and wide. My life was a glittering success. Even when my voice faded, I achieved honour as master of the pope’s music.’ He gave a deep sigh.

  ‘Such is human nature, however, I was haunted by the fact that I had caused the destruction of three lives, whether justly or not. I resolved to seek out those three and make reparation. In some way too I wanted their forgiveness. Does that sound strange to you?’

  ‘I understand. But tell me, this must surely have been many years later. Were they easy to find?’

  ‘Indeed they were not but eventually I discovered that one of them had become a goldsmith, had a wife and six children and was living in a distant town in Burgundy. The second was a monk in a silent order in the mountains. I visited both men and both were forgiven and forgave me in turn. The third turned out rather differently.’ He frowned.

  ‘The truth is he’d chosen the life of a thief and a vagabond, in and out of gaol, vengeful and violent, with the accusation of several murders never proven against him. When he recognised me and found me in his power again he wanted nothing more than to destroy me. He rounded up a gang of ruffians who lay in wait near my lodgings. Remember, I was far from home. He’d led a peripatetic life. But he wanted to teach me a lesson as he put it although what that lesson was I’ve still no idea. In the scuffle that followed it so happened that I grabbed a sword from one of them and ran him through. According to the rule of law I had myself invoked in the past I was now required to give myself up and receive my punishment for murder. The alternative was to forget my principles and make good my escape.’

  He turned to her with a look of wonderment on his face. ‘Isn’t it astonishing that I remember the moment of decision? What was I to do? I glanced down the empty street after my attackers fled. The dead man lay at my feet. My hands were covered in blood. But even so, who would know it was I who had despatched him? I could escape and continue on my glittering path. Then I came to my senses. The rule of law must be upheld.’

  ‘That was brave. What did you do?’

  ‘At that time the pope was Urban in Rome. I prostrated myself before him in the great auditorium in the Vatican. A murderer. Guilty. The words from my own mouth confirmed it. He had no choice but to condemn me. But before sentence could be passed something unexpected happened. A young law clerk stepped forward. He set out my case so convincingly I was acquitted. It was what he described as a half-crime. I was ordered to do penance as a monk in a remote community dedicated to St Rufus.’ He paused and his eyes again held a faraway look. ‘You may be thinking why is this old man telling me such a story? Has he nothing better to do than reminisce about the past?’

  Hildegard inclined her head.

  ‘It is because that young lawman is now pre-eminent in the papacy of Clement here in Avignon. Obligations do not die over time. They continue to exist in the great chain of justice that links us all. I owe my life to him. Does that explain anything to you?’

  ‘I expected you to invoke the secrecy of the confessional in order to tell me nothing.’

  ‘That also, dear domina, that also.’

  **

  So what was he telling her? That the young law man who had saved his life all those years ago was one of the cardinals who had crossed the bridge that night? That he had a debt to repay. And the cardinal, whoever he was, had now himself made a confession of murder? And, even if not already bound by the secrecy of the confessional, the priest respected the bond of obligation in order to protect his saviour.

  It should be easy to discover the identity of this supporter of Pope Clement, the murderer of Taillefer and Maurice. There were only four possible suspects. And he would be the one who had returned late to Villeneuve.

  **

  ‘Hubert? A word in private?’

  ‘My joy and my pleasure, dear heart.’

  ‘No nonsense, please.’

  A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. ‘You are a light in this world of darkness. How else should I address you?’

  ‘This is serious.’

  ‘The loggia again. So busy as to allow us to confer unnoticed, vast enough for a hundred intimate exchanges to pass between us.’

  ‘There’ll be none of those.’

  **

  ‘I have heard,’ she began, ‘that on the night Taillefer was killed only certain people crossed over the bridge. All named.’

  ‘And I was one among them.’

  ‘That’s true, but for heaven’s sake, surely I can discount you in all this?’

  ‘You can discount Fondi also, I would imagine.’

  ‘It’s him I wanted to ask you about as you seem to be on friendly terms with him. Do you know him well?’

  ‘I know Carlotta very well.’

  ‘Carlotta?’

  ‘His concubine. I’ve only met Fondi once or twice in my travels and I respect the man but I got to know Carlotta in Urbino years ago when she was an artists’ model. You’ll see her face smiling down from a dozen altar pieces playing the madonna with a variety of delightful children on her lap posing as the Christ child.’

  ‘Fondi allowed her to work as a model?’ Hildegard was aghast. The man was no more than a pander.

  ‘This was her work before she met him. I was the one who brought them together.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I doubt whether you do.’

  Feeling that she was somehow cast in a less than attractive role she replied sharply, ‘I’m not the least interested in her and her relationship with - ’

  ‘With me?’ he asked. ‘Of course not. Why should you be? Now, my dear white heart, what was it you wanted to ask me?’

  ‘Do be serious. This is important. I suppose you can vouch for the fact that Fondi and his - and Signora Carlotta - went over to Villeneuve with everyone else?’

  ‘Of course. I was invited to stay at his house. He’s had a rather beautiful villa built in the Italian style in splendid gardens. The perfect setting for his pearl, as he says. That’s Carlotta, of course. They are each fortunate to have found their soul mate.’

  Hildegard sighed impatiently. ‘And to have no guilt about breaking vows of celibacy either. So, to continue, Hubert, can you vouch for him? He did not stop off at the chapel of St Nicolas for example?’

  ‘I told you before when you were cross-questioning me, we thought of it but decided to press on to our beds.’

  ‘Did you notice anyone not follow you over?’

  ‘Again, as I told you, it was a terrible night, wind, rain, and once away from the chapel light, pitch dark, with the river raging close below. At one point we thought the arches were going to give way and pitch us into the torrent.’

  ‘Luckily they did not,’ she replied somewhat tartly. ‘Thank you, that’s all I wanted to know.’

  ‘Do you consider me a relia
ble witness, Hildegard?’

  She felt a stab of guilt. ‘In some things, Hubert.’

  ‘But not in others?’ He hesitated then turned with a curt ‘Vale!’ and walked off.

  Why was he so infuriating? She muttered a few calming words to herself that she was glad no one could overhear and went in search of the next witness.

  **

  Bellefort. She had seen him around the palace. He was one of those with a following. Now when she was conducted into his opulent privy chamber in the guest wing, in a part reserved for visiting monarchs, she noticed at once the confusion of young men attending him, one peeling grapes for him from a silver dish, another to massage his feet in their silk stockings, another to sing a ballade in a nasal accent like a troubadour with much superfluous tossing of his hair.

  ‘Dear domina, welcome!’ Bellefort greeted her with a languidly raised hand from his couch of silk in an accent so affected she had difficulty in understanding him. ‘The pleasure is all mine, pray be seated.’

  An acolyte rushed forward with a velvet covered stool. To her chagrin she was forced to sit at the prelate’s feet among a bevy of his followers.

  ‘I have an interest in the murder of the English youth found in the treasury,’ she began, straight to the point.

  ‘Ah, such a loss. A young singer of incomparable delight,’ he drawled. ‘Grizac must be heartbroken at his loss. And how may I help?’

  ‘It seems his death set in train a series of events which are too boring to relate, your eminence, but they lead onto the death of Taillefer, the esquire of the duc de Berry.’

  ‘Le duc, my greatest friend, a distinguished collector, a scholar, a man of taste in this barbarous wasteland. His legend will live on forever. And?’

  ‘Taillefer - ’

  ‘Is that the esquire’s name?’ He pretended to puzzle over it.

  ‘It is,’ Hildegard’s voice sharpened. ‘The evidence suggests that he was murdered by someone crossing the bridge that night.’

  ‘Some barbarous cut-throat, a man with no soul, a being willing to barter a finely worked dagger, a glory of the artisan’s skill, for mere gold, and in an inn of all places, or so I’m told.’

  ‘Or maybe it was someone else entirely.’

  ‘Really?’ He expressed a show of interest. ‘Who, pray?’

  ‘His identity is at present unknown but be assured, it will be revealed very soon.’

  ‘Oh, I love revelations! And this will no doubt be due to your dogged tenacity, domina?’ His insult was veiled but Hildegard would have ignored it anyway. No time for pettiness now.

  ‘If I may persist in my doggedness, your eminence, did you happen to pause to offer a prayer to St Nicolas on the way across the bridge?’

  ‘Pshaw! What do you think, boys? Would I ever stop at the river chapel? A hole for travellers, mendicants and pilgrims to sweat out their prayers?’ There was instant laughter, rather high, somewhat tinkling.

  ‘Domina, may I remind you that in any case it was a night of atrocious weather? Anyone but a madman would want to cross to their own property as soon as possible. I am not made for harsh conditions, my dear.’

  ‘That is all I wished to know, your eminence. You saw no-one.’

  ‘I saw no-one. What’s more my litter was nearly pitched into the river and I had to keep the blind down as the sight of nature’s violence was too distressing. Now, I beg of you, stay a moment. Let us offer you something to brighten the austerity of your days.’

  **

  Patronised twice over, the first, obscurely, by Hubert, and now by Bellefort, Hildegard wondered why she had pitched herself into this web.

  London beckoned.

  Momentous events were taking place at Westminster and she was trapped in the inconsequential affairs of a distant backwater where corruption was the norm. Please, God and all the saints, let me go home. No-one would thank her for her efforts. For her dogged persistence. Go. Go back, an inner voice urged.

  **

  Then something she could not have foreseen happened. As she was leaving the Tinel after breaking her fast on the next morning, after a restless night with thoughts churning fruitlessly round in her dreams, a friar detached himself from the crowd and fell into step beside her.

  ‘Domina, pray forgive me. I have something to say to you.’

  Thinking it was connected to her inquiries she halted to hear what he had to tell her.

  ‘It is this. It has not escaped my notice that you are an intimate of Abbot de Courcy. I beseech you, find some way of persuading him to vacate the palace for a day or two.’

  She stared at him.

  ‘I can see this is a shock to your understanding. Plots are afoot. He is in danger. Persuade him to leave.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Of course not. How could you. I beg you to put your trust in me. Make sure he is absent from the palace for a few days until the danger is past.’

  ‘But what sort of danger?’

  ‘Danger to his life, domina.’

  With that the friar melted into the crowd. She tried to follow but he disappeared round a corner and when she managed to pick her way after him the cloister was empty.

  **

  ‘And you expect me to take fright at this and run away?’

  ‘Of course not. I’m only telling you because I feel I should pass it on and let you make up your own mind. I knew you’d make light of it. But at least you’re warned.’

  Hubert slipped his arm in hers. ‘I think I should take this seriously, Hildegard. Let’s go away for a few days. Just you and me. We can take the hawks and have a fine time, hunting and exploring the countryside.’

  ‘Hubert.’

  ‘Come on, it may save my life. You heard what the friar said.’

  ‘This is ridiculous! You’ve just said you wouldn’t run.’

  ‘I’ve changed my mind. You know it makes sense.’

  **

  No more than two hours later they were galloping on hired horses through woodland on the west side of the palace beyond the walls of Avignon. It was a fine day. Exceptionally so. The rains had stopped. The pines gave off a rich and heady scent while on the far side of the woods countless hills unfolded in shades of grey and palest green to the horizon.

  Hubert had his favourite hawk with him, one he had brought from Meaux, and when they reached the top of a hill he let her loose with a loud cry of encouragement.

  Hildegard watched as again and again the bird gyred into the cloudless sky, hovered at its zenith then stooped to its prey.

  By late afternoon they were both breathless with the exertion of galloping their horses through the woods, with the exhilaration of the hunt, with the freedom outside the grim fortress of the pope’s palace and, it must be said, with the joy of being together.

  ‘We shall do as the friar suggested,’ Hubert told her. ‘We shall stay away until tomorrow. What do you say, my heart?’

  Somehow Hildegard was persuaded. The friar was probably mad but she would not take any risk with Hubert’s life.

  **

  They found a remote hillside inn some miles from Avignon. Soon, replete with good country fare and a potent local wine the awkward moment of retiring to their sleeping quarters loomed. Before that, however, the conversation veered towards the purpose of the friar’s warning.

  ‘I’m glad to see you’ve taken it seriously,’ Hildegard teased.

  ‘I’m taking it more seriously than you realise. Someone wants me out of the way,’ Hubert frowned. ‘I can’t think why.’

  ‘Because of your imminent election as cardinal?’

  ‘You’ve heard about that.’

  ‘As has everyone in Avignon.’

  ‘It’s not as you might imagine.’

  ‘You have no idea what I imagine.’

  They both lapsed into silence for a while until Hubert said, ‘Maybe this is a test as to my fitness for such a position?’

  ‘Whether you succumb to a test of your celibacy?’<
br />
  ‘More likely the opposite. They’ll want to know whether I really am one of them, as steeped in carnality, greed and corruption as they are. I’ve already shown I can’t be bribed. But to fail that test is not important. It can be used to work in their favour too. But this - you - is a test of the former, maybe? Am I going to stick to the precepts or bend happily to the prevailing mores?’

  ‘This is most flattering,’ her tone was acid. ‘What is your answer?’

  ‘I’ll let you guide me. What would you like it to be?’

  She saw his hand move towards his sword almost before she heard the cracking of the door as it was booted in. Hubert was on his feet in an instant as two men came hurtling into the chamber. They were armed, she noted in dumbfounded amazement, short swords drawn, visors down. She remembered screaming.

  Then one man was howling on the floor, blood pumping from a vein in his neck, and the other one was on his knees as his sword flew across the chamber, and Hubert’s blade was scraping his throat.

  Hubert let out a snarl and pricked the point of his sword deeper, drawing blood.

  ‘I am a vassal of Pope Clement sent to test you, lord. Save me!’ the man stuttered.

  Scowling, Hubert bent to pick up the fallen weapon, hefting it in his left hand with the point of his own sword still firm against his attacker’s throat.

  ‘I’ll keep this as proof.’

  ‘Don’t kill me. I’m only doing my duty.’

  ‘What the hell is Clement up to?’

  ‘He needs men of action, my lord. You have passed his test. If I live I’ll vouch for you.’

  ‘Would you have killed me?’ Hubert asked in an interested tone.

  ‘The plan was to disarm you and take you back to Avignon as our captive, to your humiliation and to end your aspiration to be elected cardinal.’

  ‘What about this miserable devil here?’ Hubert prodded a foot against the dead man.

  ‘It is the fortune of war, my lord.’

  ‘Get the hell out before I kill you in cold blood!’ snarled Hubert. ‘And take the body of your poor benighted comrade with you, save his soul. Make sure they give him a proper burial with full rites.’